


Ministerial Response

by Shan84



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shan84/pseuds/Shan84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of dying in the final battle, Voldemort simply disappeared. Now nineteen years later, life is not as perfect as it seems. When Hermione is finally promoted to Director, MLE, she gets a congratulatory letter from the person she least expects.</p><p>2012 Secret Santa Fic Exchange - gift for Nerys</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ministerial Response

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NerysDax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerysDax/gifts), [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts).



> Genres: Drama, General, Humour
> 
> Warnings: Canon compliant until the ‘final battle’ scene in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7). Also, rated for: adult themes, language, lemons/smut 
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> A/N: Written for the lovely Nerys in the Tomione Convention Forum’s Secret Santa Gift Fic exchange (Hope you like it Deary!!!).
> 
> Beta: Thank you Lady Miya, for brainstorming with me, and checking things when I asked, and making some really great suggestions along the way. You’re the best xox.
> 
> Story song recommendations:  
> ‘English Summer Rain’ by Placebo, ‘Sour Girl’ by Stone Temple Pilots, ‘Hunting for Witches’ by Bloc Party, ‘Even Though I’m a Woman’ by Seeker Lover Keeper, ‘Only If For A Night’ Florence and the Machine, ‘Closer’ by Nine Inch Nails, and ‘Every You Every Me’ by Placebo.

**Ministerial Reply**

**XXX**

**19 Years Later ...**

 

 

“Mum! Muuuuum!”  
  
Hermione looked up from her paperwork and rubbed her eyes tiredly. She had Apparated home early from Kings Cross after dropping off Rose, to get some work done, while Ron had taken Hugo to visit his Grandparents.  
  
“I’m in the study, Hugo,” she called. “Please don’t yell.”  
  
She heard the all too familiar mini-stampede up the stairs and hid the small smile as Hugo barrelled into the room, a wide grin on his face.  
  
“How were Grandma and Grandpa Weasley?” she asked before he could get a word in.  
  
“Good, Mum! Grandma Weasley made chocolate cake and I got an extra piece because Grandpa said I could because I helped him in his shed!”  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
“Oh yes! And Mum, please can I go to the Zoo tomorrow with Aunt Ginny? She’s taking Lily, and said it was okay as long as you were okay with it. Please, Mum, please?”  
  
“What did your Dad say?”  
  
“I said it was fine,” Ron replied from the doorway, giving Hermione a small shock, she didn’t notice him standing there.  
  
Hermione smiled at Ron before turning back to Hugo. “Well, I don’t see a problem with it. I’ll Owl Ginny and let her know.”  
  
“Yeah!” Hugo jumped in the air with a whoop before running back out of the room.  
  
Hermione let out a deep exasperated breath, while Ron watched Hugo bolt back down the stairs.  
  
“I told Mum not to give him so much bloody cake,” he muttered. “Now he’ll be like this all afternoon.”  
  
Hermione gave Ron a knowing look. “You know what your Mother’s like, Ron.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied. “So, do you feel ready?” He gestured towards all her paperwork scattered across their study.  
  
She sighed. “Yes, I think so. It’s not as daunting as I imagined, actually. The handover is going quite smoothly.”  
  
Hermione had just been promoted as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and was currently going through what felt like several thousand handover files. While she had never pictured herself ending up in that Department, as the years passed and Hermione gained more knowledge about the current laws and legislation in magical Britain, she knew MLE was the place to be to actually make positive changes. She had moved to the Department six years ago as a Manager, and proceeded to work her way up the Chain, while getting rid of archaic ‘pro-pureblood’ laws along the way.  
  
“Great,” Ron finally muttered and glanced at a rather thick file sitting on her desk. “Is that the file I think it is?”  
  
“Voldemort?”  
  
Ron winced. “Hermione,” he whined.  
  
Hermione put her hands on her hips. “Ronald, his name is not cursed anymore. He has been gone for twenty years … I think I can call him by his name. In fact, maybe I should just go all the way and call him Tom Riddle.”  
  
Since the disappearance of Voldemort at the great battle of Hogwarts twenty years earlier, the Wizarding world had been in, what felt like, a highly cautious state of limbo. Although, Hermione had noted that as the years had passed and no one had heard a thing from the evil Wizard, people had started to relax. Ever so slowly, conversation changed from topics such as war, security, and protection, to weddings, children, and romances. Hermione knew it couldn’t be helped, but she did have a feeling that Voldemort would reappear one day, and that she, along with Harry and Ron, knew he would return one day. It was just a matter of when.  
  
“I just don’t like it,” Ron replied, his face scrunching up with distaste.  
  
“Well, I’m not going to be afraid of him, Ron. You shouldn’t either. He’s the one who ran away. When—or even if—he comes back, we’ll be just as ready for him as we were twenty years ago.”  
  
Ron still looked uncomfortable about what she had just said, but didn’t argue with her. Instead, he announced, “By the way, I’ve got a mission in France … leaving tomorrow. Probably won’t be back till mid next week.”  
  
“Oh. That’s … fine. I’m sure Molly will look after Hugo in the afternoons,” Hermione sighed in frustration. “Oh, Ron, I wish you told me earlier. I hate putting these last minute babysitting expectations on your Mother. And there’s no way—”  
  
“You can take time off of work,” Ron finished her sentence. “Yeah, I get it, Hermione. I’ve had twenty years to get it, remember?”  
  
“You know that I—”  
  
But Ron cut her off again. “Look, I only found out about it the other day and I don’t get a choice—you know this. I meant to tell you earlier, but with Rosie going off to Hogwarts … and well, you being so busy, I never had the chance.”  
  
Hermione bit her tongue, knowing that he had plenty of time to tell her. Sadly, it was really just a sign of the times. “Okay, let’s not fight about this, Ron. I’ll cook a roast; we’ll have a nice dinner with Hugo.”  
  
Ron’s tense expression disappeared at the mention of Hugo, and he nodded before making an excuse to go check on their son and quickly leaving.  
  
Hermione sunk down on her favourite old reading chair. For the millionth time since her and Ron had started drifting apart, she wondered how it had come to this. She had come to the realisation that she did not love her husband the way a wife should a few years ago. Oh, she still loved Ron, but she wasn’t in love with him. There was no passion, just a strained friendship which she was so scared of losing if she took that final step and asked for them to separate. She couldn’t imagine being apart from Ron. He’d been a significant part of her life since she was eleven years old, how was she supposed to live without him?  
  
Again, how it had all started went through her mind like a well-read book. She recalled the first years of their marriage. They had been so in love, and passionate. Rose was born, and Hugo followed a couple of years later. Both of their careers had been going well, and everything seemed to be perfect.  
  
Whenever Hermione tried to pinpoint a particular moment their marriage had started to fall apart, she couldn’t. She wasn’t able to because it had been a multitude of the most undramatic things, culminating into one big thing. If she could single out the undramatic things, though, perhaps it was the fact that Hermione didn’t want any more children—Ron had always stated early on in their marriage that he’d love at least a minimum of three kids … Or perhaps it was the fact that Hermione didn’t want to slow down with her career. Ron had never outright asked, but Hermione felt the tension whenever she was late home, or whenever she spoke about what she wanted to achieve at the Ministry. Hermione was not a neglectful Mother, but she knew that she was lucky she’d had easy pregnancies and subsequently easy babies. Therefore, she had always felt like there was no real need to slow down. She now knew, with hindsight, that she probably should have not worked so hard.  
  
That was when the fights began. Ron demanded that Hermione at least do some work from home, and Hermione replied that it wasn’t possible. Then Ron started going away for longer periods with work. Hermione didn’t blame him, it wasn’t his fault that the Australian Ministry was having so many Dark magic-related problems and needed Commonwealth support. But with Ron away so often, Hermione’s work and being busy with the kids, it felt like their arguments were never getting resolved. Then their sex life suffered, and then the final nail in the coffin came a couple of years ago when Ron got a really bad flu, moved into the guest room and never returned back to their bedroom. Of course, there were excuses such as preferring that particular mattress, wanting to watch television before bed, and so on, but Hermione knew that their marriage had become a joke.  
  
They had never really talked about it, either. Whether it was because of embarrassment, or not wanting to actually admit that they were in trouble, Hermione wasn’t sure. All she knew was that now that Rose was at school, their problems would become even more obvious.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind like she did every time they came up. Standing up, she left the study and decided to make a start on dinner. But unlike every other time, a heavy weight settled in her stomach with the realisation that instead of just thinking about it, she needed to do something about their relationship soon.

XXX

  
The next morning Hermione found herself, coffee in hand, sitting and staring at the large file in front of her … Voldemort. She had given herself the whole day to go through it. With Ron leaving early in the morning, and Ginny stopping by via the Floo just ten minutes earlier to collect Hugo, Hermione felt strangely alone with the file. She knew that she would be aware most of what was already in there. Harry had told her everything he knew about Voldemort, and after he simply disappeared they all spent even more time analysing the Dark Wizard, hoping it would give them some kind of clue as to where he had disappeared to. Unfortunately it didn’t. Hermione sometimes wondered if Voldemort was even alive. Harry was certain of it, though, and she trusted his instincts.  
  
Sitting her coffee down on the table, she tentatively reached for the file. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at it and ran her fingers over the cover. However, upon realising how silly she was being about all of this, she scoffed, rolled her eyes and quickly flipped the cover over and started to read.  
  
Five hours later and unable to ignore the grumbling of her stomach any longer, Hermione sat back and stretched. Her back popped enthusiastically and she let out a sigh of relief. Voldemort was a ridiculously long read. And Hermione had managed to read pretty much everything; being in her position of power had meant she’d had access to files which only those in positions of power could see. Everything from school records, basic medical records from his muggle orphanage, to copious notes from Professor Dumbledore. Hermione was smug when she noted that she received a higher overall mark in both Arithmancy and Transfiguration for N.E.W.T.S … okay, it was only a few marks more, but still.  
  
She was right in the fact that she knew a lot of it already, thanks to Harry. But reading it allowed her to pick up smaller details which Harry may not have felt were important enough to talk about. She felt like she now knew Voldemort on a different level –far more different than the knowledge she had being the friend of Harry Potter. She stood and looked down at the file before her attention moved to the small box of vials. Memories ... Specifically, Dumbledore’s memories. These had been handed over to the Ministry after the last Wizarding War. She wondered if the memories were really worth looking at. Perhaps at a much later date, she’d had enough of Dark Wizards for the time being.  
  
Before she could think much more about it, the familiar sound of the Floo activating caught her attention, and the excited yells of Hugo and Lily filled the house, with a tired sounding Ginny desperately trying to keep up with them. Hermione smiled at that and turned her back on the files, eager to go and talk about something normal.

XXX

  
At exactly the same time, somewhere in a forest in Eastern Europe, a certain Wizard stood and stretched from his own reading. Voldemort took one last glance at the cover of the Daily Prophet which sat so innocently on top of all of his other information, announcing the new Director of MLE. Voldemort smirked as he looked at her picture again. Hermione Weasley stared back, looking somewhat uncomfortable, standing next to— and shaking the hand of— retiring Director Gawain Robards.  
  
He had spent the day going through everything he knew about the Mudblood. Of course, when he had escaped all those years ago, he had immediately started researching Potter’s little rag tag group of friends more closely. And the more he found out, the more he realised just how instrumental the Mudblood was in almost killing him.  
  
While he could recognise that Potter was a semi-decent Wizard – an extremely lucky semi-decent wizard, mind you – it was the Mudblood who had helped Potter escape death on more than one occasion.  
  
Yes, according to his sources, she had been quite a busy little witch during the second War; running around with Potter and the Weasley boy, destroying his Horcruxes and fooling his moronic followers. Voldemort still couldn’t help but clench his fists in anger as he recalled only finding out just how instrumental the Mudblood was after he had retreated. If he had known how much of a threat she was, he would have put a much higher bounty on her head. He recalled how he had specifically questioned Snape and the Malfoy brat about Potter’s friends when Potter was on the run, and they had both basically told him that the Mudblood would be useless without a textbook in front of her. Well, he could admit now that he had surrounded himself with the wrong people. And now Snape was dead for his treachery, and Voldemort had heard from his sources that the Malfoys were still struggling to adjust to a world where blood status wasn’t worth a knut. Fools, all of them.  
  
But Hermione Weasley was no fool. After he had been properly advised on her actions before, and during, the second War, Voldemort had kept a curious eye on her as she climbed her way up the career ladder at the Ministry. Well, he followed all of them … Potter, who was now head of the Auror Department, and Weasley, who was still Potter’s little lap-dog; it was without even saying that the Mudblood was the most interesting out of all of them.  
  
Voldemort had watched from afar as she had worked to amend and abolish what she obviously considered “out-dated” Ministry laws and legislation. She had managed to do all of this manipulating from behind the scenes, too. He noted that as the years went by, whenever Hermione Weasley had a new cause, it was only a matter of time before things changed to how she thought was best. Voldemort found it interesting that just because she was from the ‘light’ side, her political views were seen as being noble and progressive.  
  
If Voldemort didn’t hate her so much, he could almost admit to admiring her and her secretly manipulative ways. And so she was now the Department head of MLE. He curiously wondered if she had read his file yet. He didn’t doubt it. He knew that after his disappearance and the betrayal of followers not wishing to spend time in Azkaban that the Ministry would be panting over any miniscule bit of information they could get their hands on.  
  
Luckily Lord Voldemort was not stupid, and was secretive where it counted. The only follower who might have suspected him of anything—Severus—was dead, so he was able to make his escape quite easily. And it helped that he had some followers who were still loyal to him.  
  
Besides, Britain wasn’t the only country in which he had supporters. Lord Voldemort had spent much time travelling and watching over the last twenty years, and in that time had kept a close circle of followers he knew were too enamoured to leave, as well as welcomed new ones who did not approve of the many new changes in Wizarding Britain. He smirked; that was the nature of politics, after all.  
  
Still, the last twenty years had been somewhat dull. He picked up the paper and really looked at it, a sudden idea forming far too quickly. Sitting back down in his chair, Lord Voldemort reached for his quill and a spare bit of parchment.  
  
It was time to send his congratulations to the Mudblood.

XXX

  
“Ouch! Bloody buggering fuck!”  
  
Hermione quickly rushed into her new office to find the source of such obscenities doubled over and wincing in pain.  
  
“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, her voice a mixture of concern and surprise as she watched her Assistant, George Whitcross, finally stand up straight with a wince.  
  
“Sorry, Mrs Weasley,” he grimaced. “I just tried opening this letter you received and it burnt me!”  
  
“Oh dear,” Hermione muttered, drawing her wand and quickly walking over to George. “Are you okay?” she asked as she looked the young man over.  
  
“Yeah, I am now. It just really stung,” he replied.  
  
Hermione nodded before turning her attention to the letter. It sat on her desk rather innocently, and looked like any other letter. Hermione bit her bottom lip, concentrating on the letter as she ran her wand over it. Her eyebrows rose in interest when she detected several spells on it.  
  
“It’s only to be opened by me,” she finally said to George, who was curiously watching her. She couldn’t detect anything harmful on it, except for the rather emphasised stinging hex if someone other than herself tried to open it.  
  
“I wonder who sent it,” George commented curiously as he looked over her shoulder.  
  
“Not sure,” she asked, and did another check with her wand before she tentatively picked up the envelope.  
  
“Do you need me to be in here?” George asked when they both heard the outer office door open, letting them know that someone had entered the waiting area.  
  
Hermione, too intent on reading the letter, shook her head. “No, you go ahead.”  
  
Once she was alone, she sat down comfortably in her chair and opened the envelope. She couldn’t help the small exhale of relief when nothing happened. She had decided that it was probably nothing, just someone who wanted to get her direct attention. It was quite commonplace in a position like hers, and she had seen similar letters in her time as a Manager. Especially from people who continually wrote to the government, and weren’t satisfied with responses they received.  
  
It was a single piece of parchment with quite neat handwriting. Hermione’s eyes travelled straight to the bottom of the letter—out of habit—and immediately dropped the letter in fright.  
  
Lord Voldemort.  
  
Her throat immediately tightened and her chest constricted. Lord Voldemort?! Surely, this was some kind of joke? Perhaps it was someone’s idea of a joke. It wasn’t the first time Hermione had received prank mail in her line of work. But then again, who would pretend to be Lord Voldemort? The Ministry had ways of tracking mail, and there would be serious consequences for anyone caught to be impersonating such a person.  
  
Exhaling, she cautiously leant forward over her desk and eyed the letter again. It sat there, amongst her paperwork, rather innocently. Hermione could feel the pull to it. It was almost like it was begging to be read. She waved her wand a third time (one can never be too careful), and when nothing came up again, eyed the letter with some interest. Eventually, after much consideration, she gingerly picked it up and read it.

 

4 September 2016

  
Dear Miss Granger  
  
I wish to relay my congratulations in regards to your promotion to Director of MLE. I must admit that I have been an ardent  follower of  your career for some time, and have found myself often somewhere between amused and impressed at the laws and legislation you have managed to manipulate to pass.  
  
I just hope that with your promotion, you still have time for the little people, and that it doesn’t affect your family life too much. These roles are rather busy, and one must be careful to not let the Ministry run their lives.  
  
Of course, I look forward to seeing that now with this promotion what legislation you will be able to enact now.

\-          Lord Voldemort

  
Hermione stared blankly down at the letter for several long moments before rereading it at least another four times. Could it really have been Lord Voldemort who wrote that?  
  
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows and looked away from the letter as a thought came to her. She quickly summoned the Lord Voldemort file, knowing that there was one way she could see whether this letter was real or not. Opening the file, she flicked through each parchment until she finally found what she was looking for. After the battle of Hogwarts, the Malfoys, intent on saving their own arses and being as helpful as possible, had retrieved several scrolls of parchment from Malfoy Manor which were notes taken by Voldemort during his stay. While the notes were inconsequential and had nothing damning in them, they had been useful over the years when several crazy people had attempted to impersonate Voldemort for one reason or another. Hermione remembered reading his notes herself, and being annoyed at the fact she actually found them interesting. They were simply notes on an academic Transfiguration essay, and further possibilities in that field of study, but it made Hermione hate him even more, because she knew his ideas had serious merit.  
  
Pulling out several examples from his file, she lined them up next to letter which had just been sent to her. Hermione was not an expert in the field of handwriting analysis—and would definitely seek further advice—but she also had common sense, and had worked in the Law Enforcement department long enough to look herself.  
  
She looked between the letters and felt her stomach drop. She was certain it was him. The writing wasn’t completely the same, but that wasn’t the point—no one’s writing was identical every single time. No, Hermione looked for the smaller things, such as the curves, slants, and proportions of the letters. She let out the breath she had been unconsciously holding, and noted that the spacing of the letters, words, margins, and paragraphs were almost identical. She knew it was him. In fact, she didn’t need the bloody years of experience in MLE to know it was him. Call it a gut instinct, but she just knew.  
  
Reluctantly, she pushed the old examples away of his work away and concentrated back on the letter in front of her. She bit down hard on her bottom lip as she reread it what seemed like multiple times. The nerve of that … thing!  
  
Now that she was sure it was him, every sentence and word had an underlying meaning. Not only had she been through a war against that man, but she had read almost excessively on him when he went missing not long after. Therefore she knew that behind every word and sentence there was an underlying meaning. Calling her ‘Miss Granger’, yet referring to her family; the fact that he even mentioned her family caused an unexpected fury to bubble within Hermione.  
  
Immediately, her subsequent thought was that if he ever tried anything on her family, she would hunt him down herself and skin him alive. Then, there was the mention of following her career. In other words, he had been keeping an eye on her. Then the digs at her career achievements, and working at the Ministry, did not bother her as much; she had dealt with plenty of that sort of criticism in her career. Though, it only stoked the fire to her anger.  
  
Hermione’s jaw locked so tightly, grinding her teeth so harshly, that she winced slightly. She was tempted to destroy everything in her office, repair it, and then destroy it again. Closing her eyes, she silently counted to ten, concentrated on her breathing, and forced herself to calm down. This is how he wanted her to react. He wanted to throw her off in her first week. No, she couldn’t allow that to happen. But it didn’t make her any less angry. How dare he come back like this and so thoroughly taunt her.  
  
Exhaling heavily, she had to let go of this anger. She almost wished that she could be alone in a room with him and give him a piece of her mind. Insult him, outsmart him. She was not a teenage girl anymore … and even when she was, she almost defeated him. He would be well aware of that as well. Oh, how Hermione vindictively wished she could taunt him of all of his failures mingled with her successes. She—a ‘Mudblood’— had power, and he was in hiding. Hermione was no longer afraid of Voldemort. She saw him as a dangerous blemish on wizarding society, or a really awful bug that needed to be squashed.  
  
Yet, even these vindictive thoughts did not satisfy. She picked up her favourite quill, and suddenly a thought came to her. She knew something that would be incredibly therapeutic. Grabbing a new piece of parchment, she smirked as she put quill to parchment…  
  
To Voldemort, she began to write but she unconsciously shook her head. No, Hermione knew that wouldn’t do. Erasing that particular name out, she smirked when she knew what to write…  
Dear Tom Riddle …

XXX

  
Hermione returned to her desk, later that afternoon, after being stuck in a series of monotonous meetings for most of the day. The boring meetings didn’t help with the fact that Voldemort had been on her mind all day.  
  
If she was honest, she had been in limbo for most of the day. In fact, in some ways, she felt like she should be afraid, but on the other hand, she just felt weird about the whole thing. Voldemort had been gone for almost 20 years, with barely a peep or a sighting. For him to just write to her like that …. Well, Hermione wasn’t sure if he was simply bored, or had some kind of nefarious plan in place.  
  
The fake letter she had penned in her frustration had certainly helped her handle the initial anger she felt. In the meantime, she had decided that she needed to talk to Harry about it and had already organised to meet up with him later that evening. She really didn’t want to discuss it with him in the Ministry, where they ran the risk of having someone overhear.  
  
She walked back into her office, giving a small greeting to George, who looked busy filing, and quickly escaped into her office. The first thing she would do was burn the faux response she had written in her anger, and then plan with Harry tonight what her next course of action should be.  
  
Walking around to her desk her eyes immediately fell to where she had left the letter, along with a pile of paperwork before she had left for her meeting, only to find it empty. Hermione’s eyebrows creased in confusion as she quickly stepped up to her desk and began lifting random files and parchment desperately searching for the familiar parchment, but to no avail.  
  
Her frantic search was interrupted by George knocking on her door and stepping politely into her office.  
  
“Mrs Weasley, I have those reports from Finance that you …” he trailed off as he looked back up at her. “Are you okay?” he asked.  
  
“O-oh,” Hermione stuttered. “I just seem to have misplaced some paperwork I had here, nothing more.” She tried shrugging casually but failed miserably.  
  
George looked at her more closely, before it seemed as though something clicked. “Oh, are you talking about those corro files and ministry responses?”  
  
Hermione nodded, a bubble of worry beginning to build in her stomach.  
  
“I mailed them. So don’t worry, you haven’t lost them,” George answered with a smile.  
  
Hermione suddenly felt the urge to vomit. “All of them?” she asked; her tone causing George’s friendly smile to drop.  
  
He looked at her strangely. “Of course. I always handled the mail for Mr Robards. Department Heads never bother with handling their own corro.”  
  
Hermione swallowed the bile that had immediately risen at the news. Closing her eyes and trying to control her breathing, she tried to act casual. “There was a letter there—”  
  
“There were two actually … one to a Mrs Padma Zabini about the contract research she recently completed for the department, and one to a Mr Tom Riddle … member of the public reply, wasn’t it?”  
  
Tears felt like they were welling in her eyes. “Y-yes, that’s right. Did you happen to read them by any chance?”  
  
George shook his head. “No, I didn’t realise you wanted me to double check your letters?”  
  
A small wave of relief washed over her. “Oh, no, that’s fine. You won’t have to. I just wondered if you, erm, read the member of public reply.”  
  
“Sorry, but I don’t,” George answered, and Hermione could tell that he wasn’t lying. “Once you read one of those letters, you’ve read them all in my opinion,” he went on with a roll of his eyes. “It’s always one complaint or another, with a pretty standard response, isn’t it?”  
  
You wouldn’t know the half of it. “Yes. Too right,” Hermione bit out, desperately trying to control her turbulent emotions.  
  
“Sorry, Mrs Weasley, I didn’t realise you weren’t aware. We can change the system if you like?”  
  
Hermione gave him an awkward smile. “No, no. Don’t worry, George.”  
  
“Alright, well here’s the reports,” he said as he awkwardly walked across the room and handed them to her. “I’ll be outside if you need me.” And with that, he was gone.  
  
Hermione slumped into her chair and wiped away some stray tears as it finally hit her. “What the bloody hell have I done?” she asked aloud, to the empty office.

XXX

  
“Hermione,” Harry groaned in frustration later that evening, after Hermione relayed the entire story.  
  
“I know, okay? I messed up. Big time.”  
  
“We could hope that he doesn’t receive it.”  
  
“You know how reliable Ministry Owls are, Harry. It’s his birth name, regardless of what he likes to call himself … and you know how they are trained,” Hermione replied mournfully, head in her hands.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Harry sighed. “How did your Assistant not recognise the name?”  
  
Hermione shrugged. “He is only about 20, Harry. When people talk about Voldemort, he’s never called Tom Riddle” She rubbed her cheeks in frustration. “What am I going to do?” she asked. “I mean, I did think of replying, but not in that way!”  
  
“I wonder if he’ll write back,” Harry asked instead of answering her question. “I bet he will,” he added.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes, I think so, anyway.”  
  
“Do you think he’ll make a big thing out of it?” she asked.  
  
Harry shrugged. “It depends what’s in it for him.”  
  
Hermione and Harry remained silent for a few moments, Hermione’s brain in overdrive and Harry seemed simply in too much shock to really speak. She wasn’t really sure what to do about the situation. It all depended if he wrote back. The feeling that was currently gnawing the pit of her stomach told her that he would.  
  
“What do I do if he writes back?” Hermione finally asked.  
  
“Ask him to be your pen pal?” Harry replied in a deadpan tone. At Hermione’s eye-roll and glare, Harry straightened his shoulders and sat up taller. “I honestly don’t know, Hermione. It’s all ifs and buts—”  
  
“Maybe I should write back?”  
  
“Hermione—”  
  
“No, think about it, Harry! Let him think that I’ve made a complete fool of myself! That’s what he’ll be thinking, won’t he? That I’ve made a mistake, and he can take advantage of us. Let my mistake become something we can actually use!” Her eyes gleamed with excitement.  
  
“You think that you can manipulate Voldemort?” Harry asked, his eyebrows disappearing under his black mop of hair.  
  
“Well, let him think what he wants to think. Come on, Harry! You know that my letter will interest him—“  
  
“Yeah, probably. But at the same time, Hermione, studying him isn’t the same as him actively trying to manipulate you. You’ve seen what he has done to people—”  
  
“Harry James Potter, are you forgetting that I’ve had him in my mind too? That I wore that locket as well? That I had him whispering all sorts of awful things in my head?”  
  
“No, I know, Hermione. I’m sorry … it’s just that I …” he trailed off looking both apologetic and slightly worried at her angry expression.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath, and then feigned a strained smile at her friend. She understood that he often forgot that he wasn’t the only one who has had Voldemort in their mind. “It’s okay, Harry. I know you didn’t mean it.”  
  
After another bout of silence, Harry finally broke the silence and said, “Alright, if he is going to write back, I suppose it’s not a bad idea to try and maintain some kind of contact with him. So, let’s look at that letter again.”

XXX

  
Voldemort walked over to the window and let the Owl in. A Ministry Owl? Well, he’d have to kill it, of course. He didn’t want to risk someone tracking him through it. While Ministry Owls were special in that they could find anyone in any country, they could also have tracking spells on them. Voldemort quickly waved his wand over the patient looking Owl and with a blink of surprise noted that the bird had no tracking or tracing spells on it. Interesting.  
  
He accepted the envelope before shooting a killing curse at the bird. It fell limply with a dull thud to the ground and Voldemort didn’t even give it a second glance as he took the envelope over to his desk and sat down. An invisible eyebrow rose with interest when he noted the official looking MLE stamp in the left-hand corner. However, his lip curled in disgust when he noted the name on the front of the envelope …  
  
Tom Riddle.  
  
That fucking name. It would always haunt him. Before he could be anymore annoyed, he decided to open the letter and read whatever was inside. It had to be Granger’s reply, and he could admit that he was surprised at her quick response. He thought that she’d at least stew over the letter for a week before trying to come up with some sort of well-constructed reply. Though, he did remind himself that over the years her various ambitions and work had sometimes surprised him as he followed her career by print. Unfolding the parchment he began to read …  
  
Tom Riddle,  
  
What an unpleasant surprise it was to hear from you, of all people (though, are you really considered as a person?), and then to receive your congratulations as well. I would say I’m ever so flattered that you’ve been following my career, but that would be a lie. However, perhaps my career is an interesting case study for you … A case study in how to succeed without falling flat on your face (or running away like a coward); something which you could write a book on, I assure you.  
  
Please don’t show your concern about me forgetting the little people. I’m writing this, aren’t I? Not that you’ll see it. But I’m still wasting my time, aren’t I? Just like I had to waste my time reading your boring Ministry file over the weekend; yes, in Britain we all still have to waste our time knowing all about you. You, the most spectacular failure of a Dark Wizard … EVER. At least Grindelwald got some control over other parts of Europe. Really, Tom, those were your teenage years, didn’t you pick anything up on how to not fuck up being a Dark Lord?  
  
Now, the hilarious thing is that if this was a polite response to a member of the Wizarding world, or a colleague I haven’t seen in years, I might be tempted to ask what you had been up to. I might even politely give a damn about your concerns with regards to the policy platforms I regularly take. Perhaps the Ministry should do a genuine response to you? You know, we do actually have a template for letters like yours. I get congratulatory letters all the time, you see, so perhaps you might actually get a run-of-the-mill Ministry response. Lucky you, lucky me.  
Anyway, I think this has been therapeutic enough for me right now. Don’t worry, I’ll tell Harry you said hello.  
  
Kindly go fuck yourself,  
Hermione Weasley  
Head of Department  
Magical Law Enforcement  
British Ministry of Magic  
  
Voldemort, for the first time in a long time, sat back and let out a genuine laugh. How did the Mudblood let this slip out of her fingers? He read the letter again, focusing on several parts of the letter with great amusement. He had heard of her sharp tongue, but was now experiencing it firsthand.  
  
He wondered what she did when she realised this letter had been accidentally sent. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall. To watch her unravel would have possibly made his day. The uptight, prig of a woman would surely have blown a fuse. Well, the silly Mudblood shouldn’t have called him by that horrid name. Now she was paying and— he had already decided—would continue to pay.  
Voldemort was not about to let this little blunder go … No, this was far too good. He’d been quite bored for the last twenty years  
  
Grabbing a new piece of parchment and his quill, an evil smirk was permanently etched on Voldemort’s face as he started writing back to her.

XXX

  
Hermione got the shock of her life when she awoke on a pleasant Saturday morning and there was a large black Raven sitting on her windowsill staring at her. She noted the enveloped attached to its leg and tentatively got up to retrieve it.  
  
The Raven practically pushed its way into her flat once she opened the window, and she let out a tired, annoyed grunt as she followed it to where it had perched on her bed.  
  
Removing the letter, she scowled when the bird remained on her bed as if he belonged there.  
  
“Do you mind?” she huffed, giving it a dirty look as she opened the envelope.  
  
The bird simply stared back at her as if it was asking ‘what are you going to do?’. Hermione rolled her eyes, before her attention went to her letter.

8 September 2016

  
Granger,  
  
You need to have better control over whoever handles your paperwork to have let your little response fall through the cracks and into my hands. Wouldn’t it be interesting if I forwarded it to The Daily Prophet? I hear Rita Skeeter’s close to retirement and wanting to go out on a high, preferably by throwing you under a bus (by the way, what did you do to get on her bad side?).  
I must admit though, I enjoyed reading it. The way you express frustration was even more frigid than what I could ever imagine. Even your angry letters are uptight and prudish. Tell me, Hermione Granger, how does one truly go and fuck themselves? I thought you might be able to tell me, since according to some sources, your marriage is far from perfect. Yes, that’s right. You’d be surprised what I know and who still supports me. Just because you have some perfect, idealistic government in power, does not mean all of the population is pleased. Be careful of who you are oppressing, when you are busy hugging House Elves. Be careful of who you ignore when you are too busy paying too much attention to the minorities. If you make certain parts of the community displeased, they have a habit of turning to the most extreme behaviour to get their point across.  
  
I’m disappointed you didn’t find my file more interesting, I assure you that I am far more interesting than your atypical government recordings. I could tell you some fascinating things … Again, only if you want to.

\-          Lord Voldemort

  
P.S. Do not attempt to imprison, track, or place any magic on my Raven. Loki is a very special bird, and you only be disappointed if you try anything. Loki does, however, appreciate dry crackers and most kinds of bird treats. He will remain at your place for a total of 24 hours, unless you reply sooner.  
  
Hermione sat the letter down and smirked. He had replied exactly how she had hoped he would.

XXX

 

10 September 2016

 

Riddle,

 

Using threats now, are we? Just so a Muggleborn will write back to you? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

 

As for your comments on my political agenda, well you’d know all about pissing minorities off, wouldn’t you? Your views on the current political climate in Britain are out of touch, at best. Our government is not oppressing anyone with our policies, merely ensuring that everyone—from House Elf to Centaur—has the same rights as the average witch or wizard, and is treated with the dignity they deserve.

 

I assume the underlying tone of your letter suggests that the purebloods may be unhappy. If they are, they certainly have not shown it. In fact, you’ll find I actually have much support in pureblood circles after I helped abolish those arcane laws which forced young pureblood women into unbreakable arranged marriages with pureblood men.

 

Speaking of marriages … commenting on mine? I’d never pick you, of all people, as a gossip. Is that what you did at Death Eater meetings? Sit around and gossip about the love lives of those you considered beneath you? I can assure you that my marriage is none of your concern.

 

\-          Hermione Weasley

 

XXX

 

18 September 2016

  
Granger,  
  
Dignity and equal rights?  
  
Need I remind you of the recent crackdown on those considered ‘dark’ wizards, and the tougher sentencing laws on those who commit repeat offences? The recent policies and legislation that you pushed through the Wizengamot, which meant harsher penalties for those who are considered “too far gone” by the Ministry to deal with?  
  
You create harsher sentencing, yet, there is no attempt on the Ministry’s behalf to try and rehabilitate these people. Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh, Hermione?  
  
By the way, I hope you enjoy the book I’ve attached. Happy birthday for the 19th.

XXX

 

24 September 2016

  
Riddle,  
  
Interesting. Well, are you putting your hand up to volunteer for “rehabilitation”?  
  
Honestly, you are just arguing for the sake of arguing. I highly doubt you believe what you just wrote anyway, so I’m not even going to bother arguing about that with someone like you.  
  
As for the book. It was … interesting. And how did you get your hands on it? I thought the last known copy was seen in the early 20th century. I found myself disagreeing with Brightstock’s theory that the alignment of stars and constellations affect spells. I mean, yes, there is evidence that a full moon may strengthen certain magic or potions ingredients, but Brightstock’s evidence regarding constellations is quite out there … I understand that constellations “rise and set”, just like the moon and sun, but it takes thousands of years to notice any difference in constellations. How can magic, therefore change dramatically because of it?  
  
And stop calling me Granger. It’s WEASLEY, for your information. And it has been Weasley for the good part of 20 years.

\-          Hermione Weasley

 

XXX

  
“Any idea on where he is?” Harry asked over a butterbeer one night.  
  
Hermione looked up from the sandwich she had been picking at. “No. I tried putting a tracker on his bird and spent the next few days getting over a very, very nasty hex.”  
  
“What sort of hex?”  
  
“You really don’t want to know.” Hermione blushed and looked back down at her sandwich.  
  
“Right. But he’s responding as you anticipated?”  
  
This was when Hermione grinned smugly. “He most certainly is. Besides, he sent me a book … and the fact that he got his hands on it means that I can narrow certain places out.”

XXX

 

12 October 2016

  
Granger,  
  
Are you saying this because you believe I am not tolerant of diversity?  
  
You, on the other hand, may embrace and perhaps even consume diversity, yet you ignore what is considered ‘difficult’ in society. Whether you like it or not, your policies and legislation changes in recent years have shown your lack of faith in the attempts to reform or perhaps even rehabilitate ‘difficult’ people –aka ‘dark’ wizards. I note that the Ministry, since the end of the second war, has increased policing and socially controlling these groups to ensure “nothing like that happens ever again”. Your Ministry runs the risk of intensifying any possible outbreak of such deviant behaviour in the future.  
  
As for Brightstock, stop thinking like a muggle. You’re a witch. I suggest you then look at Elbert Meerhop’s paper, written in 1906, in response to the study.

XXX

 

5 November 2016

  
Riddle,  
  
I finally finished reading Meerhop’s paper. Thanks for the warning; it was more the size of a telephone book, actually. Also, thanks ever so much for the warning about what a dull writer the man is, by the way.  
  
Okay, so Meerhop’s model is very fascinating … when you get past the absolutely atrocious writing. If Meerhop’s guesses on constellation alignments, time zones, etc, and on Brightstock’s theory is correct, then it can be done in July next year. I was thinking of trying something with a potion, as potions are the most affected from that type of magic and those theories.  
  
As for your thoughts on our policy and law making ... well, that’s complete rubbish. It’s about as realistic as if, say, the situation was reversed and you were trying to “rehabilitate” the muggleborn out of me. You are acting like those practicing dark magic are similar to drug addicts. Research has shown that it’s not.

\-          Hermione Weasley

 

XXX

 

26 November 2016

 

  
Granger,  
  
You’re right, Meerhop’s writing is atrocious. But it’s worth reading, once you get past that and simply concentrate on the content. Ah, nice try with commenting on when his model will actually work. I will commend you on thinking that I would slip. But surely, you know that if I agree with you or not on July, might give you a feint idea of my location. But I will be interested to hear about YOUR results with whatever potion you’re going to try it with. Have you chosen your potion yet?  
  
Oh, I am sure the Ministry is very busy at the moment … what with all the Christmas parties coming up and such. Be careful and don’t eat too much fruit cake and drink too much elf wine, Granger.  
  
Actually, did you read that research paper by Theodore Nott … didn’t you go to school with that boy? His findings leant towards dark magic being “addictive”. The theory was that too much usage over time causes the body to become dependent on it. If you read the research, you would note that there was a recommended program in there, currently being used by the Japanese Ministry of Magic which has shown much success in the rehabilitation of offenders.

XXX

 

2 December 2016

  
Riddle,  
  
Theodore Nott’s research is one paper against ten others opposing his theories. Besides, the program being utilised by the Japanese Ministry does not meet health and safety standards currently set by the British Ministry for its prisoners, and is too invasive for the Wizengamot to even consider a trial program. Mr Nott already approached us about this, but we were unable to reach a compromise …Yes, I did go to school with him, and I am sure that you are already well-aware that his research company is consulted on many Ministry-based projects.  
  
I have not decided which potion I’ll choose yet. It has to be something that will have a noticeable reaction. Do you have any ideas? As for your comments on me trying to track you down … well Loki takes a few days in between delivering letters, so I already have my own ideas as to your location.  
  
By the way, Loki seems to have developed a soft spot for fruit mince pies. If you do actually celebrate Christmas at all, in whichever lair you’re hiding in, I recommend your bird would very much enjoy some. Or, you could send him here and I will give him some.  
  
The Ministry is extremely busy at the moment. And no, it’s not all about Christmas parties either. I do actually run an entire department, you know. My days aren’t spent waiting to read your letters. I know that must come as a shock to your monstrosity of an ego.

XXX

10 December 2016

  
Granger,  
  
So you automatically ignore research just because it goes against the grain and the Ministry is too precious about releasing certain data? Well, why should I be surprised? Such a typical government response from you. Although, you always liked following the rules, didn’t you? I also recall Severus saying that if it wasn’t in a book, Potter’s little Mudblood would be completely stuck.  
  
If you knew any willing werewolves I would recommend the Wolfsbane potion. It would be interesting to see the outcome of that. Other than that, you could also try Polyjuice. It might make the physical transformation more tolerable.  
  
You better not be making Loki fat, Granger. He looked a bit rounder when he flew back with this letter. Just how many mince pies did you let him have? He can be a greedy bird, and I am always careful with his diet.  
  
Well, if you’re so busy all the time, I suppose I should be flattered you find the time to reply to my letters then.

XXX

 

25 December 2016

  
Mudblood, did I say something in my last letter to offend you? Nevertheless, Loki needed to stretch his wings. Don’t give him too many pies.

XXX

 

30 December 2016

  
Could you be any more of a scrooge? And no, I don’t see why I have to reply to you while I am on Christmas leave. The only reason I am replying while not being at work is because Loki needed to go home. He got into my pantry and now it’s a mess. He is obviously trying to “live it up” while he doesn’t have to live under your food dictatorship. Must you be in control of  
everything?

XXX

4 January 2017

  
So when do you finish your leave? And how can the Ministry be busy of you are allowed to take holidays?  
  
As for Loki’s treatment of your pantry, serves you right. I told you not to feed him too many pies. Now you are paying the price.  
  
\- Lord Voldemort

XXX

12 January 2017

  
For your information, everyone at the Ministry takes holidays at that time of the year. There is no point being at work when nothing is being done because of the Christmas holiday.  
  
Well, I think I will try the Polyjuice then. I (unfortunately) have to agree with you about Wolfsbane, but I don’t know any werewolves.  
  
As for Loki, he is not “rounder”. I hope you didn’t say anything, you might hurt his feelings. Plus, he would use enough energy flying, so he would burn off all those mince pies.  
  
Oh, and did Snape tell you that useless bit of information about me to distract you from the fact that he was going behind your back to Dumbledore and the Order?  
  
\- Hermione Weasley

XXX

30 January 2017

  
Now I’m hurt, Hermione. Snape’s betrayal still haunts me to this day. How could you bring up such an awful thing?  
  
Did you have a nice little Christmas holiday? I’m sure it was a merry time with your burrow of Weasels. Speaking of which, did Christmas manage to heal the rift in your marriage? My sources tell me that Ronald Weasley barely spends any time at home any more.  
  
Of course I wouldn’t insult Loki. Don’t be ridiculous.  
  
Did you read the latest academic article from Tweedee Tozzill about the discovery of magical properties in the Great Barrier Reef off Australia?

XXX

25 February 2017

  
Don’t tell me you’re not writing back because I insulted your pet Weasel.  
  
\- L.V.

XXX

  
“Thanks for coming over, Harry. I think I can narrow it down to Eastern Europe.”  
  
Harry sat down at Hermione’s kitchen table and pulled off his scarf. “Voldemort, you mean?”  
“Yes,” Hermione sighed. “I’m certain of it.”  
  
“Okay, why?”  
  
“Well … he mentioned an academic article he read which was only published in the European edition of that particular journal—”  
  
“He could have ordered that from any part of the world,” Harry cut in.  
  
“I’ve checked their international subscription lists, and I’m sure he’s in Europe,” she replied and gave Harry a look.  
  
Harry gave her a reluctant look. “Okay, is that all?”  
  
“Well, common sense and logic dictates that if he was in Europe, he would be in the Eastern part. The other parts, such as Sweden, the Netherlands, or even Germany, have no sympathy for dark wizards, especially after Grindelwald and the recent formation of the Coalition of European Wizarding States, to fight dark magic.”  
  
“Hermione …”  
  
“Don’t look at me like that, Harry. You know as well as I do that Eastern Europe is, and always has been, more sympathetic towards the Dark Arts. If Voldemort still has any support, there’s bound to be some in those particular countries.”  
  
“It’s still a lot of guessing—”  
  
“No,” she cut across him. “Besides, I analysed the ink in his letters. The particular type is a specific brand only sold in Albania, Macedonia, and Bulgaria.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes good naturedly. “Now you’re appealing to the Auror.”  
  
Hermione smirked. “I know. Besides, it has to be one of those countries. Loki is fast, but not that fast.”  
  
“Loki?”  
  
“His bird.”  
  
“Right,” Harry sighed. “Get me a sample of the bird’s faeces, we’ll run a lab test and see if any, say, plant remains show up which might be native to the area you suggest. So do you think he’ll spill anything else? What’s your next plan?”  
  
“Well, I need you to start gathering intel for those specific countries. Then I’m not really sure …”  
  
“Just continue writing to him … He’ll mess up eventually. He always does,” Harry said, sounding slightly more eager than he did when he arrived.  
  
Hermione scowled. “I don’t see why I have to write to him all the time. He’s not easy to deal with, you know. All the sarcasm and underhanded comments are driving me crazy.”  
  
“Hermione. What did he say?”  
  
“Nothing … can’t I just have a little break? He is very tiring, you know.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course I know that. What did he say?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Hermione.”  
  
Hermione sighed. “He made some comments about my … marriage.”  
  
Harry looked confused. “Like what?”  
  
“The fact that Ron is barely home.”  
  
Harry snorted. “How on earth would he know that?”  
  
Hermione gave Harry a look. “He apparently has ‘sources’. It seems like he still knows what we are doing with our lives. And he felt the need to make comments about my marriage.” She looked down, embarrassed.  
  
“Why would Voldemort …” Harry trailed off looking thoughtful. “Who cares, Hermione? You don’t need to listen to him.”  
  
“What he hints at is true, Harry,” Hermione replied far too quickly. The words left a bad taste in her mouth, as if her and Ron’s failure to keep a happy marriage was an embarrassment to admit to.  
  
She looked up when she felt Harry take her hand. “It’s okay,” he muttered. “You guys will sort it out.”  
  
His words sounded nothing but hollow to her. Surely he couldn’t have been blind to her and Ron’s troubles over the last few years? Even Ginny seemed to have picked up on it, and had spoken about it with Hermione a few times.  
  
“That’s the problem, Harry; I think we’re too far past simply sorting it out.”  
  
Harry’s response was to simply grab her hand and give her a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay, Hermione. Don’t let him get to you … If I know anyone who could Voldemort in his place, it’s you.”  


XXX

5 March 2017

  
Granger, I thought you weren’t that sensitive. Do you often bury your head in the sand when people say things you don’t like? Is that why you are having marriage troubles? Is that why the Weasel was recently seen pouring his heart out to another Auror in a bar in Italy? More importantly, is that why certain policies languish in your Ministry?  
  
I saw your recent media opportunity in the Prophet, regarding the new partnership offering specialised internships to Hogwarts graduates. So, you haven’t completely disappeared off the planet. I know you’re still alive. Besides, you must be feeding Loki when he shows up.

XXX

 

12 March 2017

  
Riddle, don’t comment on things you have no idea about. In fact, commenting on human relationships altogether is not really your forte, wouldn’t you agree? In other words, if you make comments on my marriage in the future, I will not respond.  
  
The Tozzill article was interesting. In particular, the healing properties during the coral spawning period will really make inroads in Healing potions.  
  
Did you read the second article he posted about the polyps?  
  
As for the new Hogwarts cadetship, yes, it’s something I have been working on for some time and am quite excited about it.

XXX

20 March 2017

  
Just what we need. More public servants. Though, I will agree that this program is much better than what was previously there for so many years.  
  
Coral having sex and human relationships in one letter, Granger? What kinds of depravity are you trying to pull me into? For the record, as you have so brusquely stated, you’re a married woman, and it is highly inappropriate for you to discuss such things with a man other than your husband.  
  
The polyps article will revolutionise the Healing world. Especially with healing pastes for magical burns.

XXX  

 

2 April 2017

  
What is that supposed to mean? RE: your comment on public servants. You do know that Plato said that public servants are guardians of the state. Besides, we are the biggest employer in the Wizarding World. If it wasn’t for the Ministry, many would not have jobs.  
  
I cannot believe you could be so disgusting and twist my words like that RE coral research article. All I can say is, keep your fantasies to yourself, Riddle, and stop trying to drop them into these letters.  
  
Well, it’s not just magical burns that the polyps will assist with. There is also a study underway looking at its effect on magical scars, too.

XXX

  
Ron sat heavily in the lounge chair across from Hermione and dusted off his robes. Hermione ignored the small amounts of soot that fell around him, he had always done it, and while she had nagged him early in their marriage about it, he had never stopped doing it.  
  
“How was Prague?” she asked instead, giving him a quick glance over the files she was currently going over.  
  
“It was okay, we—”  
  
He was interrupted by a brisk tapping on the window. Both looked up and Ron narrowed his eyes while Hermione’s gaze softened. She quickly flicked her wand, opening the window, and the bird swooped and landed in front of Hermione.  
  
“Hello Loki,” she greeted with a small smile on her lips.  
  
“Whose bloody bird is that, anyway?” Ron asked with annoyance, again. “It’s always here.”  
  
Hermione sucked in a breath as she took the envelope and sat it on her lap. “I told you it’s for a special project, Ron. One that I—”  
  
“Cannot reveal, blah, blah, blah,” he finished sarcastically.  
  
“Well if you already know my response, why did you even bother asking?” she replied tersely, rolling her eyes.  
  
She heard Ron let out a frustrated sigh and looked up to see him run his hands angrily through his hair. “I don’t know, Hermione. Maybe I hoped that you could talk to me.”  
  
“You know I can’t do that,” she replied and grimaced slightly. Harry was the only other person who knew she was communicating with Voldemort. They had only agreed to consult others when they had a certain location. She hated that she couldn’t tell Ron, but it was better the less people who knew the better.  
  
“For fuck’s sake, Hermione!” he shouted, so suddenly that it caused her to flinch. “What are we doing? We sit here and you talk to me like I’m a fucking child—”  
  
“That is not true! I do not—“  
  
“Yes, you do,” he punctuated each word as he pointed an accusing finger at her. “Merlin, why are we doing this? I know we’ve been drifting apart for a while, but in the last few months it’s like you haven’t been here at all!”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“You’re … I dunno … preoccupied or something! It’s like you’re always anxious. I don’t know how to approach you. You snap all the time at me … I just … I-I don’t feel like your husband anymore!”  
  
“You’re being ridiculous, Ronald,” she snapped, though her protest sounded half-hearted at best.  
  
“No, I’m not! You fucking know that I’m not!”  
  
Hermione flinched and blinked back the tears that began to uncontrollably build up behind her eyes. “What—”  
  
“I want a divorce,” he said so suddenly that Hermione thought she didn’t hear it properly at first.  
  
“What?” she whispered.  
  
“I want a divorce, Hermione,” he finally repeated.

XXX

 

WIZARDING WORLD SHOCKED AT NEWS OF GOLDEN COUPLE SPLIT

 

By Rita Skeeter

 

Wizarding Britain is in shock after the announcement of the separation between golden couple Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley.

 

The couple, who have been married for almost 20 years, and have two children, Rose Sarah, 12 years old, and Hugo William, 9 years old.

 

When asked to comment on the split, Mrs Weasley, who was rushing to a meeting, tersely responded that she had no comment, and that her family life is private. Mr Weasley has also indicated that he would not be commenting on the matter.

 

This reporter would like to know if it was Mrs Weasley’s dogged determination of a successful Ministry career that was the final straw which broke the camel’s back. Mrs Weasley (or should we now say Granger?) recently took the role as Director or Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry, whilst Mr Weasley remains as a successful Team Leader and Second in Command Auror.

 

Miss Granger and Mr Weasley are best known for their roles in helping defeating and sending dark Wizard Lord Voldemort into hiding in the second Wizarding War, along with Mr Harry Potter.

 

XXX

 

5 May 2017

  
Granger,  
  
RE: The article on different uses of magical fire you were talking about in one of your last letters, Alder Babblebrook actually proved that you could ignite fire under water. Look it up, there was an article written in 1984.  
  
Why is there coffee and what looks like food grease stains all over the last letter you sent?  
  
Becoming careless, are we? Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who emotionally eats at the first sight of turmoil. But are we going to pretend that the article in the Prophet doesn’t exist?

XXX

15 May 2017

  
I thought that Babblebrook was found out to be lying in 1991. Sort of like the Gilderoy Lockhart of the magical fire research world? In fact, if I recall, wasn’t he stripped of his PhD for that exact reason?  
  
For your information it was one drip of coffee, AND, if I recall, only one grease smudge. Talk about a flair for the dramatic.  
  
I’m not talking to you about that because it’s none of your business. I already told you I wouldn’t speak about my private life with you.

XXX

 

25 May 2017

  
Babblebrook was stripped of his PhD because of politics and the fact that he happily used dark magic as part of his research. Don’t believe everything you read, Hermione.  
  
And here I thought I had managed to build up a delicate camaraderie of sorts with you. You’d pour your little heart out to me about how that abominable Ronald had wronged you, and I would share my woes in return. Please, I’m dying to talk about how misunderstood I am! And you need to let out all your complaints of the Weasels. Especially that dope you somehow stayed married to for such a long time.  
  
By the way, have you started that Polyjuice yet?

XXX

 

5 June 2017

  
I highly doubt the Ministry or University would do that. It wouldn’t be the first time an academic has used unorthodox methods in getting results.  
  
Well, if it’s any consolation, that paragraph made me laugh. Camaraderie? Right. Does Loki count? The only reason I am still writing to you is because I would miss Loki too much if I stopped. In fact, perhaps I could teach Loki to talk and convince him to leave you. Then our relationship would be perfect.  
  
I have no complaints about Ron. This was completely amicable. Will that stop you from asking?  
Of course I have started the Polyjuice. I’m assuming you want to know the results?  
  
\- Hermione Granger

XXX

 

20 June 2017

  
Well, it’s true. And if you don’t believe me, just check who the administrator for the Education department was at that time …  
  
I must admit that I’ve never had to compete with a bird for attention before. But I know you don’t mean that, Granger. Besides, what about all those books I’ve sent you, which, I might add, I have never seen again. Remember that I pick the books, Loki simply carries them.  
  
None at all? Then why are you the one who checked out of the family home and into a hotel? Not very chivalrous of him.  
  
I suppose you’ve countered my “daft” question with an even stupider question of your own. Of course I am interested in the results.  
  
\- L.V.

XXX

 

30 June 2017

  
UMBRIDGE?! You have got to be kidding me? Does that woman live to ruin everything for everyone? How does she manage to cause destruction wherever she goes? Can you believe that she apparently showed up for work on the Monday after the battle of Hogwarts as if nothing had happened? As if … oh wait, that was all you anyway.  
  
I didn’t realise you wanted the books back. Do you? I thought they were gifts. I can send them back though, if it bothers you.  
  
As for competing with Loki, well, there wasn’t a comparison to start with. Loki was always miles in front. Besides, don’t you think you’re a bit old to be trying to get my attention?  
  
Well, I shall find the results out in a couple of weeks. Now I need to decide who I want to be when I change …  
  
\- Hermione Granger  
  
Hermione sat back and read over the letter again. Yes, it was exactly as she wanted it. The subtle flirting had begun, and Hermione didn’t even really have to initiate it. She wasn’t sure what Voldemort’s games were about, but it didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to approach writing her letters without the same degree of planning that she suspected him of. It was like tentatively dipping yourself in hot water. It had to be done slowly and carefully.  
  
Sealing the letter with a pleased expression on her face, she gave Loki an affectionate pat before sending him on his way, wondering how Voldemort would react to her latest letter.

XXX

 

12 July 2017

  
Granger,  
  
A little birdie told me about you leading a certain Ministry worker, parading as Head Mistress, into the Forbidden Forest, only to be taken away by Centaurs. And you say that I’m vindictive? Here’s a tip, Granger, when you want to get rid of your enemies, make it permanent. Thankfully, I only had to deal with her through letter. The blasted woman felt the need to continuously correspond with me. What’s worse is that her letters were always scented pink parchment. Sometimes she even put potpourri in the letters. In the end I gave Wormtail the responsibility of responding to her letters.  
  
Keep the books, Granger. Although maybe I’ll ask for something in return one of these days.  
  
Are you calling me an old man? Well, think of the things you could learn from me. Besides, you are only as young as you feel.  
  
So you haven’t tried the potion yet? When do you plan on it? What do you expect the results to be?  
  


 

20 July 2017

  
Riddle,  
  
No, I tried the potion over the weekend. Of course you don’t know, the spies you have watching my every move couldn’t tell who I had become, could they?  Since I’ll be writing a paper on it, I’ve sent you an early draft to read. I think you’ll find my results fascinating.  
  
Look, the whole Umbridge thing was blown out of proportion, in my opinion. I had to think on my feet. Besides, she still lived, didn’t she? How did you hear about that anyway? Oh, and how do you feel knowing that she was wearing your Horcrux? I personally find it hilarious. Oh, unwanted letters? I’d never be able to understand what you mean about that. By the way, I’m being sarcastic.  
  
Well, yes, I suppose I was calling you an old man. But technically you are in your 90’s now; which makes you old.

XXX

  
There was a perverse satisfaction in Hermione when she read his responses to her more recent letters. She had a feeling that he knew what she was doing. He had, after all, been playing this game much longer than she had. Yet he still continued as a willing participant.  
  
Her flirting was subtle … in moments where she despaired, she could perhaps even make excuses and claim that it was reluctant. She could even admit that it crept up on her, as though her responses—whilst always planned to the hilt—came completely naturally. It made her feel as though she was a spectator to her own games, and that the natural progression of their communications (and her acceptance of it) made the game easier for her to play.  
  
Time flies when you’re having fun.  
  
Letters which had previously contained thinly-veiled insults and pure academic discussion only, slowly morphed into subtle compliments. Rather than trying to ‘one-up’ each other on their shared academic knowledge, Hermione noticed the shift where trying to compete became sharing and giving advice.  
  
The sharing of knowledge was integral to her plan. So she had carefully written an essay on her experience with the Polyjuice, dearly hoping that what followed seemed as natural as possible. It was what she didn’t share; something not even related to the Polyjuice, that she was really banking on working.  
  
The subtle flirtations reminded Hermione that Voldemort was still a man. A very clever one, but a man nonetheless. And surely he occasionally had the same desires as every other man did. She wondered if her reluctant flirting pleased him in a way. Potter’s Mudblood flirting with Lord Voldemort. She was well aware that a part of him would know that she was doing it on purpose, but she was also banking on Voldemort’s unwavering arrogance and ego would also accept it, too. Besides, she was able to admit that she enjoyed the flirting – perhaps more than she should. And she knew Voldemort could see that, too. Therefore, she was able to continue to play with half-truths.  
  
Hermione knew she was playing a dangerous game, but she also knew that she was no longer the same school girl who had fought him all those years ago. And no one was more aware of that than he was.  
  
She looked down at the pile of letters she had accumulated over the many months and realised it was time to step up the plan. Pulling the new, chic black cloak over her rather daring evening gown, and touching up her lipstick, Hermione squared her shoulders and left her hotel room, giving nothing away of what she planned next.

XXX

 

Curiosity Confidential: Hermione Granger’s New Love?

 

By Prophet Social Columnist Parvarti Patil

 

Has Hermione Granger already moved on from Ron Weasley? And with ex-Slytherin— and confirmed bachelor— Theodore Nott? Curiosity Confidential can exclusively report that it appeared that her ex-husband was the last person on her mind at  the Annual Ministry Ball.

Miss Granger, wearing a beautiful—and exclusive—Madame Malkin couture gown (see picture, far right), was the centre of attention from the moment she arrived.

 

Confidential can report that, according to sources, Mr Nott made a beeline for the radiant-looking Miss Granger almost as soon as she arrived, where the unlikely couple proceeded to spend the rest of the night laughing, socialising, and dancing together.

 

My sources reveal that Mr Nott and Miss Granger have worked together many times over the years, with Miss Granger often using Mr Nott’s private research firm for the  review of specialist MLE projects.

 

Our source indicated that they would not be surprised if Mr Nott had been waiting for his chance to pursue Miss Granger, now that she was finally single.

 

“Theo likes the fact that Granger doesn’t fawn all over him,” our unnamed source revealed when we asked if  the couple would actually work. “He’s also always had a thing for women with big, bushy hair. And we all know Granger has the bushiest head of all.”

 

Hair or not, could our favourite golden girl tame this confirmed bachelor? Mr Nott, who has had a permanent spot on Witch Weekly’s hottest wizard list for the last 15 years, is known for dating a string of beautiful witches, yet refusing to settle down; leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake.

Curiosity Confidential will be following these two glamorous singles closely to keep you posted.

 

XXX

  
Hermione could admit that she was surprised how easily the gossips ate up her spending time with Theodore Nott. They were actually nothing more than good acquaintances, and Hermione, at least, had no romantic designs on the man. Still, when Loki arrived with his next letter Hermione tried to ignore the anticipation she felt to see what sort of reaction he would have; or, more to the point, what sort of reaction he wouldn’t have. Opening the letter, she didn’t even realise she was holding her breath.

25 August 2017

  
Granger,  
  
If you can prove those results from the Polyjuice are tangible then I can see a definite interest in that small bit of research. I have attached the article you sent, and have added some comments, questions, and feedback which you might find useful.  
  
Did you enjoy your little sojourn into extracurricular research?  
  
Would you find that this sort of freelance work would be enough to coax you away from the daily humdrum of the Ministry? Or are you too entrenched in what you think you are achieving there to never consider leaving?  
  
Hermione sat down heavily in her chair. The letter was short, not entirely unpleasant, but held a variety of underlying meanings.  
  
Did you enjoy your little sojourn into extracurricular research?  
  
She couldn’t stop herself from repeatedly looking over that particular question. He was asking her about the Prophet article. She ignored the fact that the smile that came to her face was not from a cunning plan coming to life, but more to the fact that the two of them had reached some kind of strange understanding. She quickly grabbed her quill and went about replying.

XXX

  
Voldemort put down Hermione’s latest letter and smirked. She had easily seen through his letter and the underlying messages. And she had replied with her own subtle undertones in kind. They were both playing a dangerous game, and they both knew it. That was one of the most amusing parts for Voldemort. He got tired of those who were not fast enough to keep up with him; who did not seem to realise things until it was too late. Hermione Granger had proven to be that and more.  
  
His attention was drawn back to the picture which had not really left his desk since the Daily Prophet had been delivered those couple of months ago. She had made front page, looking elegant and powerful in those fancy red robes at the Ministry Gala. He had spent a lot of time examining the photo, using the image to add to what he already knew about her. Of course, he had seen many photos of her before, but those were often stuffy media opportunities where she was uncomfortable and obviously stand-offish. This photo, however, had caught her unawares.  
However, despite the exquisite robes, and the fact that she had aged extremely well, Voldemort found that his attention constantly drifted to her eyes. They appeared serious and intelligent, and just one look gave an admirer an inkling of the power she was capable of. It made him wonder about her expressions when she wrote those letters to him, or perhaps, if they were in the same room arguing, how she would attempt to pin him with an angry or challenging gaze.  
  
She had been absolutely wasted with that Weasel. And now here she was flirting with that little shit, Theodore Nott. Voldemort remembered his father, Thaddeaus, a rather talented and dedicated Death Eater, and wondered how Nott junior had managed to come out of the war with nothing sticking to him like the other pureblood sons. He now controlled a powerful research company, and Hermione had hinted to have worked with him before.  
  
Voldemort sneered. Nott wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like Hermione. From all accounts of the society and gossip pages, Nott was used to simpering little society girls. Girls who were brought up to be seen, not heard, and cared more about their appearances, rather than academic pursuits.  
  
He looked at the picture again, and watched as Hermione smiled and laughed, but her eyes never betrayed the serious intelligence that Voldemort had so enjoyed sparring with over the many months of their correspondence.  
  
His letters had started as a way to mock and infuriate the Ministry. To show them that Lord Voldemort was, indeed, still around. They may have settled into their comfortable family lives, but he was still there, watching. It was only supposed to be a taste; he wasn’t even certain that he wanted to go back and attempt to rule wizarding Britain.  
  
But as he reread his last letter, his thin lips couldn’t help but curve with amusement. Hermione Granger had grown into a worthy adversary. Before he began writing to her, he imagined her to be a boring prude, but he found her intelligence refreshing. It was such a shame she was so idealistic. Lord Voldemort could admit that the recent visions he had of her, coming fully into her powers and abandoning her restrictive morals, ignited something in him which had been dormant for many years. The thought of those eyes looking upon him, working with him, dedicating her life to an endless quest of power with him was heady to his senses.  
  
He wanted to try and break her, but at the same time, he wanted her to never stop fighting him. And he knew that she wouldn’t. Which is what kept him writing back to her.  
  
He briefly glanced at the photo and letters again, his lip curling in distaste and a possessive rage that had been simmering for some time at the other man who was standing beside her. This just wouldn’t do.  
  
Lord Voldemort never shared.

XXX

  
  
  
“Excellent speech, Miss Granger,” the elderly wizard, whose name Hermione couldn’t recall, complimented as she stepped down from the podium. “How you find time for this extracurricular work, as well as running MLE amazes even the most dedicated Academics.”  
  
Hermione gave the man a polite smile and thanked him, before moving away from the stage. She was currently presenting her findings of the polyjuice potion research to the annual British Potioneer Gala. Judging by the applause she had received, they had approved of her research wholeheartedly.  
  
Warmth flushed her cheeks from the excitement of her presentation. As she took a glass of champagne from one of the waiters milling around she had to admit that it was a rush doing this sort of work. In her job at MLE, she spent more time sitting in meetings, and if she did presentations, they were all Ministry based. That was fine most of the time, but it was nice to mix things up a bit every now and then.  
  
“Quite the speech there, Granger,” drawled a familiar voice from behind her.  
  
Hermione turned around and smiled at the man standing in front of her. “Hello, Nott. Thank you. I didn’t realise you’d be here tonight.”  
  
Theodore Nott gave a nonchalant shrug. “It’s a big night for potions. My company always gets tickets,” he replied. “You’re looking wonderful, by the way,” he added.  
  
Hermione flushed and looked down at her new royal blue robes. Well, the night did call for formal wear, and Hermione had particularly loved these ones. Before she could respond to Nott, they were interrupted by two men approaching.  
  
“Ah! Hermione Granger, long time no see!” Derek Shoobald, an old colleague from her early days at the Ministry greeted. “Wonderful presentation and fascinating results,” he complemented.  
  
“Thank you Derek. How have you been? I feel as though it’s been ages.”  
  
“It certainly has. I’ve been well …. The kids and Marge are great, too,” he replied.  
  
“That’s great to hear,” Hermione answered with a smile.  
  
“Oh, where are my manners. Hermione, this fellow here has been hoping to talk with you about your research,” Derek turned and looked at the man standing just a little bit off of their group. “Thomas, was it?” he asked the man.  
  
Hermione’s gaze finally went to the man and had to stop herself from a visible reaction as the man stepped forward. She couldn’t help but feel herself flush as she took in his tall, lean frame; along with almost black hair, with a speckle of grey, and the darkest brown eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. But it wasn’t just his looks that caught her attention, there was something else too. Confidence and ease surrounded the man; a power that she couldn’t exactly quantify or explain emanated from him. She found it thrilling.  
  
The man’s lips quirked into a small smirk as his gaze met Hermione’s. Oh Merlin! He had caught her checking him out. Hermione swallowed a lump of embarrassment and tried to feign indifference.  
  
“My name is Thomas. Thomas Elddir,” he smoothly said, his voice holding a hint of amusement, before holding out his hand.  
  
Hermione tilted her head slightly. Allowing him to take her hand, she was even more surprised that instead of shaking it, he kissed the top of it lightly. Hermione tried to quell the blush that she knew was surely blooming on her cheeks by now.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind,” he continued, her hand still in his, “but I read your article and simply had to finally meet you. When I heard Mr Shoobald discussing how well he knew you, I simply had to take a chance.”  
  
“Oh,” Hermione replied, feeling decidedly distracted by the way his full lips moved, and seemed to be permanently curved in amusement. “It’s a … pleasure, and thank you.”  
  
“And what is it that brings you here tonight, Mr Elddir?” Nott drawled in a bored manner. Hermione had completely forgotten that Nott was still there.  
  
Hermione watched as Thomas’s attention went to Nott, and for a fleeting moment she thought she saw something close to anger flash through Thomas’s eyes, but it was gone before she could give it too much more thought.  
  
“Why, I’m here for Miss Granger, of course,” he replied smoothly. “Aren’t we all?” He then gave Nott a subtle, pointed look which caused Hermione’s eyes to widen a bit.  
  
“No, Elddir, you misunderstand. I meant what do you do which brings you to this conference,” Nott said.  
  
“Oh, my mistake,” Thomas replied, sending an amused glance to Hermione. “I specialise in many subjects, and have reached mastery levels in the subjects of Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Potions, to name just a few. I’ve also spent time studying Astronomy quite extensively, so you can only imagine how fascinating I would find Miss Granger’s work.”  
  
Nott raised an eyebrow. “So many achievements, and yet I’ve never heard of you,” he said.  
  
Hermione cringed internally. She did not need Nott acting like a peacock, thank you very much.  
  
Especially because Nott seemed to be under the illusion that they were something more than occasional work colleagues. Which couldn’t be further from how Hermione actually felt.  
  
Thomas cocked an eyebrow at the other man. “Oh, I’m sure if I went into more detail of my projects, you’d be more than familiar, Mr Nott.”  
  
“How did you know my name?” Nott asked.  
  
“You only run the largest private Research and Evaluation Company in Wizarding Britain, so it would be astute of me to know. Besides, I once knew your Father.”  
  
The group delved into an uncomfortable silence, as Nott had no reply to that. Hermione didn’t need to assume that Nott did not like speaking of his father, as he had worked hard to move his family away from the Death Eater reputation that they had held. It was more than obvious that Thomas had just indirectly offended him.  
  
“I was actually hoping to monopolise Miss Granger, if none of you mind. I have a rather important project to discuss with her.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened again. She looked at both Nott and Derek and noted their equally surprised expressions. Derek quickly nodded, and gave his best wishes with a promise to catch up at a later date, while Nott stood there, seemingly unsure about what he would do.  
  
“Surely—” Nott began, but was interrupted.  
  
“It’s fine … Theo. We can talk later,” Hermione quickly spoke over him, giving him a reassuring smile for good measure.  
  
Nott looked between the two of them before giving Hermione a careful nod. After he finally bade goodbye, Hermione couldn’t help the wave of relief. Turning her attention back to Thomas Elddir—not that it ever really left him completely—she gave him a tight smile.  
  
“What is it you wished to speak to me about?” she asked.  
  
The man in front of her gave her a level, appraising look. “I’m sure we can find plenty of things to discuss …”  
  
Hermione bit down on her bottom lip, and she felt her heart speed up as his eyes followed the motion. “I’m sure we can,” she finally replied.  
  
The man held out his arm out for her to take and he gave her what could be a charming smirk.  
  
“Care to talk on the balcony?”  
  
Hermione found herself transfixed by his dark gaze. Before she could overanalyse her actions, she took his arm and let him lead her out onto the balcony.

XXX

  
He led her out to a comfortable looking chair, and he sat across from her, long legs stretched out wide. Running his long fingers up the glass of firewhiskey, he looked at her in a way that made her want to squirm in her seat.  
  
“I hope I wasn’t stealing you away from your date, before,” he said, and took a sip of his drink.  
  
“Not at all,” she replied.  
  
“What, that he’s not your date, or you don’t mind leaving him to fend for himself?”  
  
Hermione gave him a small smirk. “Both.”  
  
A wide smile stretched across his face, and Hermione was transfixed by his perfect white teeth and the way his eyes glinted at her.  
  
“I was impressed with your presentation. You have quite the presence,” he said.  
  
Hermione really looked at him. “Thank you. Though I will admit that I can’t take all the credit.”  
  
He quirked a dark, sculpted brow in interest. “Oh? And why is that?”  
  
“I had help,” she replied.  
  
“Really? Anyone I might know?” he asked, and Hermione was surprised at the mischievous tone he used.  
  
“Oh, I believe you would.”  
  
“But you haven’t mentioned this mysterious … helper?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“And why is that?”  
  
“He knows who he is,” she replied lazily.  
  
His smile became a smirk and his eyes darkened considerably. “He certainly does.”  
  
“When did you get here?” she finally asked.  
  
“Last night.”  
  
“What brings you back into the country?” she asked, careful to keep her voice at a low murmur.  
  
“I had to see your big moment, didn’t I?”  
  
“Did you? Quite a risk you’re taking.”  
  
He shrugged, almost like he didn’t care, but Hermione knew better. “When did you work it out?”  
“I’ve seen many memories of you,” she began, and watched as, quite suddenly, his hands clenched angrily. Giving him a moment, she continued, “You look exactly like that … maybe a bit more mature, but still the same.” Her mind was whirring with the theoretical possibilities. She knew it was a tweaked version of her potion.  
  
“Polyjuice captures the essence of the person at exactly the moment their hair is plucked, so to speak. I just had to make minor adjustments to change myself into … myself.”  
  
“And the grey hair?” she asked.  
  
He ran a hand through his hair and smirked. “Just a simple charm. Do you like it, Miss Granger?”  
  
He eyed her in a way which caused Hermione to become incredibly aware of how fast her heart was beating.  
  
Just then they heard a clattering come from the hall just inside. Being so aware of him, Hermione almost forgot there were a hundred or so people inside. She needed to get him away from these people.  
  
“I think we need to go somewhere more private,” Hermione announced. “We can go back to my room.”  
  
Thomas Elddir, or better known as Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, raised a sceptical eyebrow.  
Hermione clucked in annoyance at his expression. “That’s where I’m going, so you can stay or leave.”  
  
He finally stood. “Lead the way,” he drawled.

XXX

  
They stepped into the hotel suite Hermione had been staying in since she split with Ron. She walked through the foyer and into the living area. Walking over to the open plan kitchen, she pulled out a bottle of wine.  
  
“Drink?” she offered.  
  
Voldemort gave a curt nod as he looked around, seeming to drink in his surroundings. Hermione quickly poured the drinks, careful to keep her attention on him at all times. If she wanted this to work, she had to be alert at all times.  
  
Handing Voldemort the wine, she gave a small smile. “Cheers,” she said and saluted him before taking a drink.  
  
She watched as Voldemort brought the glass up to his nose and sniffed. His eyes snapped to hers quickly and narrowed. “What’s in this?” he demanded.  
  
Hermione gave a small smile. “Every potion, I believe, should have an antidote.”  
  
Voldemort looked at her for a few long moments, with a look that she couldn’t quite decipher. “Are you sure?” he finally asked.  
  
Hermione looked at him seriously. “Of course I am,” she replied, lifting her chin defiantly.  
  
Voldemort brought the glass to his lips and downed the whole glass, his eyes never leaving hers the entire time. Hermione felt her womb clench with need and want at the look in his eyes. She downed the rest of her wine as well, and watched as the antidote began to take effect.  
  
She watched with morbid fascination as his features shifted. Those oh-so-familiar serpentine features that she could remember began to slowly reappear. And the strangest thing for Hermione was that she wasn’t disgusted by the way he looked. She recalled when she saw him at the final battle all those years ago, and he had truly frightened her. Now though, she was fascinated more than anything. His looks were meant to inspire fear, but Hermione was past that now. To her, he appeared almost alien-like and otherworldly.  
  
“Better?” he asked sarcastically, holding his hands out.  
  
Hermione stared at him. “… Yes,” she replied quietly.  
  
He pulled his wand out, and Hermione immediately had hers out in preparation. She knew what would happen next, and was sure it wouldn’t be pretty. His face twisted as he realised he wasn’t able to use any magic.  
  
“Expelliarmus!” she cast before even answering his question, and watched as his wand clattered on the ground, before quickly summoning it. “You’ve been drugged. You’re magic will be out for at least two months,” she replied calmly, putting his wand away. “And I’m the only one who can open and close the doors too.”  
  
Voldemort came rushing towards her and grabbed her. Hermione forced herself to remain calm in the face of his fury.  
  
“You bitch!” he snapped, his gaze full of hatred.  
  
“It wasn’t easy … It was a special antidote, just for you. I realised the possibility of blocking magic in the experimental phases of reducing the Polyjuice. So sorry I didn’t mention it in our letters,” she replied in that same calm voice that no doubt annoyed him further.  
  
Voldemort’s grip suddenly slackened as realisation dawned across his features. “You’ve used dark magic … I can feel it. You’ve been reading up quite a lot, haven’t you?” His eyes snapped back towards hers, and a vicious smirk curled his thin lips.  
  
“Do you think you are in control, Hermione?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm, as he brought a cool hand to her cheek. “Do you think you can best me?”  
  
Hermione swallowed hard. Even knowing that he wasn’t capable of magic at that very moment, his presence was still somewhat unsettling. She could feel the magic buzzing in the air. He was fighting her restrictions, and she could only imagine what would happen if he broke them.  
  
“Do you?” he repeated.  
  
“You can leave now, Riddle,” Hermione said instead. “You can leave now, and never speak to me again. It will be like we never met. “It’s your choice.”  
  
Voldemort looked thoughtful for a moment before chuckling darkly. “You don’t get it, do you, Hermione?” he asked.  
  
“Get what?”  
  
“That I don’t relinquish what’s mine,” he replied and before she could respond he pulled her into his embrace and smashed his lips against hers.  
  
It was violent and domineering, and Hermione returned the kiss with an equal fervour, feeling herself being pulled into him; he was completely surrounding her. Running her fingers down the front of his robes, she allowed her nails to scrape harshly against the material. He, in return, grabbed her hips and ground them against his own.  
  
Hermione gasped, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. Languidly exploring her mouth, Hermione felt her insides twist with arousal as his tongue danced with hers.  
  
A small voice at the back of her mind yelled at her to see reason, but the other voice, the louder one, only reminded her of the attraction that had slowly built between them.  
  
Again, she ran her hands up his arms, and then back down his chest, surprised at how firm he felt.  She had to grip him tightly as he lifted and sat her on the edge of one of the kitchen counters.  
  
Firm, powerful hands gripped her hips and pulled her towards the edge of the counter, where he forcefully kicked apart her legs and insinuated himself between them. Hermione moaned and arched against him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.  
  
Moving his lips away from her own, Hermione couldn’t help the shiver when she felt his hot breath on her neck.  
  
“Granger,” he growled lowly, “lose the robes.”  
  
Hermione pulled back from him and brought shaking fingers to the buttons of her robes. She quickly began undoing them, frustrated at her own fumbling, to reveal bare breasts (sticking charms were essential for these robes) and a pair of flimsy lace knickers.  
  
Hermione allowed his hands to move over her breasts and lightly pinch down on her nipples. Her body wasn’t as firm as it had been in her twenties, but she had taken good care of herself, and was comfortable with her figure. She could also tell that he didn’t mind either; judging by the way his heated gaze languidly looked her up and down.  
  
Staring back at him, she moved her hands to the buttons of his robes and with a bit more confidence, deftly undid them. She was pleasantly surprised at what lay underneath. Sure, he was lean, but certainly not too skinny.  
  
He pulled her towards him again, so that her bum was right on the edge of the counter, forcing her to wrap her legs around his narrow, but powerful hips. He kissed her, not as violently as before, but it still didn’t mean the kiss could be defined as anything except dominating. She moaned as his fingers moved all over her body before moving to her breasts and tugging and pinching at them.  
  
Hermione gasped and unconsciously writhed against him, causing him to give a small growl of approval. Her hands moved to his shoulders and she scraped her fingers down his back harshly, hoping to mark, before resting her hands on his arse and thrusting against him.  
  
She moaned when she felt his stiff length thrust against her centre, and whimpered when he brought his fingers down and ran them over her sex. His hands moved to the lace edge of her knickers and she flinched as he tugged them harshly, ripping them straight from her body.  
  
Before she could complain about him ruining her knickers, his mouth was harshly punishing her again, while his deft fingers moved down and began stroking her. She let out an agonised groan and tried to control her jarring movements when one of his fingers slipped between her sex and began stroking her clit.  
  
Hermione pulled away from their kiss and threw her head back and moaned. Voldemort immediately moved his lips to her neck and she allowed him to spread her legs further. She cried out when he suddenly thrust his fingers into her and bit down on her ear lobe, causing her to violently thrust against his fingers.  
  
One, then two fingers began pumping in and out of her at an agonisingly slow pace, while his thumb worked her clit. Hermione sighed at the feelings that were building up inside of her. It had been such a long time since she had been sexually intimate with someone else. She had stopped having sex with Ron a long time before their split, and Hermione hadn’t had the urge to seek it out, until now.  
  
Running her fingers down his chest, her fingernails scrapping across his nipples and causing him to make a strange grunting noise, she moved them down to the waist band of his pants and began tugging at the belt buckle.  
  
“No,” Voldemort growled.  
  
“But—”  
  
“Later,” he ordered, his lips moving across her clavicles and down to her breasts. “I want to see you fall apart around me, Hermione,” he murmured, his fingers thrusting in deeper, harder. “I want to hear you scream,” he demanded before his mouth latched onto one of her breasts and his fingers pushed right into her and hit that one spot that caused her to see stars.  
  
She cried out in pleasure and didn’t even notice as he slowly pushed her to lie down on the counter. He made sure she was splayed back while he licked and sucked and moved his fingers in and out of her cunt.  
  
She began to shift and move her hips to meet his thrusting fingers, and did not care how wanton she must have looked in that moment. Suddenly his mouth left her breast and before she could say anything, she felt it latch onto her clit and suck hard, while his fingers began moving at a harsher pace. Her noises were unintelligible as his tongue laved and sucked on her. Without even thinking, she brought her hand down and pulled and gripped his head, moving herself against him unashamedly.  
  
She could feel it building, and there was a familiar tightening of her nipples and tug in her womb. His fingers began pressing and pushing against that special spot inside her, and Hermione couldn’t stop the jerking movements. It was all instinct now; all she was concentrating on was her own release. It was so close, and she felt her inner walls begin to tighten around his fingers so she rode him harder and faster.  
  
Suddenly, it was all around her and she cried out loudly as her cunt squeezed his fingers. She was semi aware of him biting down on her clit, and her orgasm pulsed through her, causing all the tension to leave her body, leaving only a delicious fullness that she hadn’t felt in the longest time.  
  
When she finally caught her bearings again, she looked down at him and watched as he licked her cum off of his long and elegant fingers. She couldn’t believe she had actually just done that with Voldemort! But before she could think any more—or regret for that matter—his hands gripped her hips and he carelessly flipped her boneless body over. She was now face-down on the kitchen counter top, with her hips digging into the edge, her legs dangling in the air, and her breasts pressing uncomfortably into the cold marble beneath her.  
  
She wiggled, trying to get more comfortable, and was stopped as a large hand immediately held her down. She heard the rustle of pants being removed, a belt thrown to the floor, and couldn’t control the tingle of excitement that ran through her. When she stilled, the same hand moved from her lower back and down over her arse, before running a long finger through her wet and exposed cunt.  
  
“If I had magic, Hermione, I could make this more comfortable for you,” said Voldemort in a deceptively calm voice. “But you’re a bad witch, aren’t you? And bad witches will feel everything.”  
  
Hermione moaned as she felt his cock brush against one of her thighs as he moved in right behind her. She bucked and rolled her hips and he growled angrily at her.  
  
“Fuck, stay still,” he ground out, and she couldn’t stop the strange yelping sound that left her when he slapped her arse. “Such a pretty cunt,” she heard him mutter as his hands moved to grip her hips tightly. She felt him then, poised for entry, and cried out when he thrust into her without any ceremony.  
  
Hermione cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain, as he was thicker than Ron, and it had been so long for her. Voldemort let out a guttural groan and began a punishing rhythm which sent her body into a lusty frenzy. The cold hard corner of the countertop dug into her hip bones, and she was sure that she would have terrible bruises from it.  
  
Voldemort growled as he pounded in and out of her, the sound of their skin slapping together causing Hermione to become even wetter.  
  
“You like this, don’t you? You want, no need, someone to control that bossy little mouth and cunt,” he muttered, and she felt his hands move from her hips and up her sides, the caress a complete parallel to his hard thrusts.  
  
“Shut up and fuck me,” she retorted back breathlessly, and couldn’t stop the grin that appeared as he sped up his movements, the angle that they were in allowing his cock to hit deep inside her, causing her to gasp and moan.  
  
He continued hitting the same spot, over and over, knowing what it was doing to her, and when her pussy began convulsing around him, she let go with a scream, clamping down on his cock, drawing him in and crying out.  
  
Voldemort continued his hard thrusts, and she sighed with pleasure as her orgasm drew out as his frantic movements continued. He chuckled darkly at her, and she felt him lean down and bite down on her shoulder. Just as he bit down, Hermione felt one last violent snap of his hips before he stilled, his cock jerking and knew he had finally cum.  
  
They both lay there in silence for what felt like an age, until Hermione’s hips could no longer take the pain from their coupling. She wiggled and began to push herself up. She felt him move away from her and then pushed herself up and off the bench, wincing slightly as she stood up.  
“Well, that escalated quickly,” Voldemort said, effectively breaking the silence that had built up between them.  
  
Hermione let out a huff of laughter, and quickly reached for her robes which had dropped to the ground beside her. Grabbing her wand, she dressed herself and turned to offer Voldemort the same, but he was already pulling his own robes back on, not wanting or needing her assistance.  
  
“So,” Voldemort began, leaning against the countertop. “What are your plans now, Hermione?”  
  
Hermione stilled at his calm tone. Why did she get the feeling that he knew what her plans were already? Why was he acting so nonchalant?  
  
“I think you know,” she replied, discreetly rubbing an old, familiar coin in her pocket.  
  
Before he could even respond, the pops of Apparition sounded around the room and Hermione flicked the door open, Harry and several other Aurors bustling into the room, wands drawn.  
  
“Potter,” Voldemort greeted before turning to Hermione. “You sure know how to ruin the moment,” he said to her.  
  
“Just stay where you are, Voldemort,” Harry ordered, pointing his wand at him.  
  
“What, no polite pleasantries?” Voldemort mocked.  
  
“Things end here, Voldemort,” Harry said. “This has been going on for too long. People shouldn’t need to live in fear of a ghost of a man who no longer holds the power he did. You’re done, Riddle.”  
  
“Oh, is that so?” Voldemort raised non-existent eyebrows at Harry. “If I’m so, as you say, ‘done’, why do people live in fear, Harry Potter?”  
  
“Look at you, you’re caught. And in such boring circumstances. No big bang … no great battle. What a disappointment, Riddle,” Harry mocked.  
  
Voldemort turned his attention to Hermione. “Oh, I don’t know about boring. What do you say, Hermione?”  
  
Hermione bit down on her bottom lip and looked away so he wouldn’t see her blush. Harry had no idea about what had just happened between the two of them. She didn’t understand why Voldemort was being so calm about everything. Although, she supposed that he realised it wasn’t like he could fight her, Harry, as well as the other two Aurors with no magic.  
  
“Well, are you going to arrest me, Potter, or do I have to listen to more of your boring drivel?”

XXX

 

One Month Later

  
Hermione woke up to an insistent tapping on her window. Rolling over, she eyed the familiar bird before reaching for her wand and flicking it so her window opened. Loki flew through the window, dropped the letter on her lap before perching on the new bird stand Hermione had just bought him. Now that he permanently lived with Hermione, she had spoiled him with the best bird-related goods money could buy. Loki seemed to preen under the attention he received from her, and had been happily delivering her mail since Voldemort had demanded that the bird go with Hermione when he was arrested.  
  
Now, that was something she couldn’t believe she pulled off. She had a feeling that Voldemort already had some nefarious plan in place once the potion wore off. But Hermione was currently working with several Academics to create something he could wear which would control his unbelievable level of magic.  
  
Finally looking down at the letter on her lap, she noted it was from Azkaban. Quickly opening it, she saw that it was a detailed list of visiting hours, and requirements for those who were visiting high risk prisoners. She read through it, even though she was well-aware of most of it, before putting the letter aside and sighing.  
  
Turning to Loki, she gave the bird a small smile. “What do you say, Loki, do we make him wait, or should I visit him when he expects?”  
  
Loki ruffled his feathers and squawked quite loudly. Hermione grinned. “Yeah, I thought so too.”  
Standing up, she started getting ready. This time, she wasn’t going to bother with any underwear at all.

XXX

  
Voldemort paced his shithole of a cell. Only a couple of months to go, and that potion would wear off and his magic would be restored. Then he could begin searching. Yes, Granger wasn’t the only one who manipulated certain situations to get an outcome they wanted.  
  
He knew that Granger would never let her attraction to him overtake her moral obligations. Honestly, it was the woman’s one weakness, besides the fact that she surrounded herself with such inferior imbeciles. Although he knew that she was confused as to why everything had run so smoothly.  
  
Voldemort had been looking for a way to sneak into Azkaban for years now. After he found out, through extensive searching, questioning, and some logical guess work, a certain artefact that he was desperate to get his hands on was hidden somewhere in the bowels of Azkaban by one of his most loyal followers, Rabastan Lestrange.  
  
It was something Voldemort had tasked Lestrange with, during the second war, when had had gained control of the Ministry and Azkaban. Now, somewhere within these walls the entire works of Merlin were hidden. Voldemort had managed to steal the works from some caves not long after his resurrection. If he could get his hands on the work, there were spells there that could bend time, bring power, and most of all, possibly bring back his immortality.  
  
He sat down on the tiny chair in his cell, lost in thought. Suddenly, his cell door was rattled by one of the guards, he had a visitor. Voldemort stood. He knew there was only one person who could be visiting him at this time.  
  
The door swung open and there stood Hermione Granger. Yes, he knew he had to do some waiting, but as he looked her over in that nicely fitted set of robes, he was sure he could find a way to pass the time …  
  
“Azkaban really doesn’t suit you,” she said, smiling sweetly and breaking him from some very lewd thoughts.  
  
His eyes narrowed, not liking her smug expression at all. It wasn’t like she had managed to trick him. Not really. He had had to take that potion not to make her suspicious. He had guessed it was more than something to reveal his true looks. The inability to use his magic was just a minor setback. He would get it back. He could already feel himself getting stronger.  
  
“Arrogance doesn’t suit you,” he remarked, stopping right in front of her. “You think you’ve won, don’t you?”  
  
“I have won. You’re behind bars where you belong.”  
  
“Do you really think I would be here if I didn’t want to?” he asked softly. If she did think that, she was underestimating him severely. He had to give the woman a sporting chance.  
  
“Of course you want to be here. But we want you to be here too.” She took an object from her purse and threw it at him. He recognised it as the journal he had left in his lair. “I thought I could pick up some things for you when I swung by your place a few weeks ago. You must be missing being able to write.”  
  
She had managed to get into his hideout? “Do you really think I would have left anything of importance there?” he asked haughtily, pretending to be unimpressed, when he in reality he was trying to remember every little bit of information he had not only left in his hideout, but what exactly he had written in the journal, too.  
  
Hermione simply smiled.  



End file.
